CHAPTER NINE
Eric awakened in a state of full arousal. His wife had snuggled against him after he’d touched her, and he’d spent a long night tormented by physical frustration. But it had felt right to have her in his arms. Even now, he didn’t want to get out of bed. If they’d had a true marriage, he would have spent all night making love to her.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to get up. He had nearly given in to his instincts last night, though it was wrong to do so. He was not a Viking who would follow his baser urges and claim his wife. He had no right to risk conceiving a child with Katarina—not when he might leave her even more vulnerable than she already was. Then, too, no child deserved to grow up without a father.
His mind drifted back to the duke. Although they had constantly argued, he missed Gregory. His father had been a bookish sort, never understanding why Eric had enjoyed learning boxing and fencing instead of immersing himself in Latin studies. He wondered what Gregory would think of Valdr. The formerjarlbore a physical resemblance to his father, but he doubted if Valdr even knew how to read. And yet, both men believed they were always right.
He wondered if their similarity was a deliberate turn of fate—almost as if he’d been given a second chance to gain forgiveness from the man he’d abandoned. Or perhaps he was in purgatory after all, destined to face his mistakes and learn from them.
He dressed quietly, and Katarina woke up a moment later. The fire had died down, and he added more wood, coaxing flames from the glowing embers. She smiled sleepily as she ran her fingers through her hair.
“Good morn to you, Eric.”
The use of his true name made him smile. “And to you.” He watched as she put on a new apron and washed her face and hands from a bucket. She began preparing food for them, but he sensed shyness from his wife. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable around him after their intimacy last night. It hadn’t been his intention to touch her, but after her silent invitation, nothing could have made him turn her away.
“I will train alongside you this day,” she said quietly. “My brother has taught me before.”
He understood her reasons, but he warned, “Be careful. I do not want you to be hurt.” The idea of her facing Viking warriors was not a welcome one.
“No man will hurt me. Not today or ever again.” She spooned an oat mixture onto a heated stone, and he didn’t miss the stubborn resolve in her expression.
“I agree.” He came up behind her and kissed her cheek. “What weapon will you use?”
From her belt, she withdrew a small dagger. “This. I have fought with it before.”
He examined the light blade and handed it back to her, hilt-first. “It will do well enough.” Though the weapon was small, it was all she needed.
After Katarina put it away, she finished making their morning meal, and he ate alongside her. She rebraided her hair, tying it back with a leather cord. He helped her again with the dishes, and she seemed shy, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Is something wrong, Katarina?” he asked, when they were ready to leave.
She bit her lower lip, hesitating. He waited for her to speak, and finally, she caught his hand. She reached up to touch his nape and guided his face down to hers. Standing on tiptoe, she lifted her mouth to his, kissing him softly.
“I want a true marriage, Eric. Not a shadow of one.”
Her invitation startled him, but he kissed her back, twining his hand in her long braid and pressing her against the wall. There was something to be said for a primitive life. Katarina cared nothing for propriety, and they both suspected that time was running out. He kept his kiss gentle, letting her take what he wanted. But he slid his tongue within her mouth, coaxing her into more. Her eagerness fired up his desire, and he felt himself growing more uncivilized with each minute, wanting to claim her.
He drew his hands over her body, pulling her so close, he could feel every curve. He ached to possess her, but a part of him considered the consequences. There could indeed be a child, which was too grave a risk.
With great reluctance, he pulled back. In her eyes, he saw a yearning emotion, before she veiled it. “We should go now, Katarina. We will speak more of it later tonight.”
He opened the door for her and escorted her outside. But as they walked toward his uncle’s dwelling, the pale moon was still visible over the horizon. No longer full, the shape had begun to wane. It was possible that he had barely a fortnight remaining.
A coldness slid over his spine, but he trudged forward. The future might be uncertain, but there was still a little time left.
It had been years since Katarina had trained in fighting. Hrafn had hung a heavy bag filled with grain, and she spent time lunging at the target, stabbing it with an upward motion. But although she worked until perspiration came over her skin, she was watching Eric all the while.
Her husband was more adept with the sword than the battle-ax. She now knew the reason—it was a weapon he had used in East Anglia—but she found it difficult to grasp that a man could cross through time.
He had discarded his tunic, and she noticed the healing nick across his chest. She stopped her training and watched him openly for a time. His chest held the lines of strength, and his stomach was lean and toned. For an idle moment, she remembered touching him and the feeling of his hands upon her bare skin.
He worked tirelessly with Hrafn while his uncle and father watched over him. She was unable to tear her gaze from him. He moved with purpose, and he never took his eyes off his opponent. Once or twice, he seemed to lose himself in the fight, and her brother was forced to retreat.
Eric glanced over at her, and she smiled at him, showing her approval. He sheathed his sword and switched over to the battle-ax. She tried to turn her attention back to her practice, but her mind kept drifting to her husband.
Everything had happened so fast, and yet, she admitted that she was enjoying the moments with this man. Tonight, she intended to stand firm, to be his wife in flesh as well as in spirit. The need went beyond all else.
Katarina’s arms ached from the repetitive motion of stabbing, and so she stuck her blade into the bag of grain and crossed the small courtyard, signaling athrallto bring ale. The young man returned with several goblets, and she went to wait for the men to finish their sparring. She drank while the men circled one another.
